


Useless

by LaTessitrice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaTessitrice/pseuds/LaTessitrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even Sherlock Holmes can't understand instructions from IKEA.</p>
<p>Sherlolly crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Useless

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently The Empty Hearse broke me and I’m now in full Sherlolly shipping mode. It’s unlikely I’ll write any full length fic but this utterly ridiculous idea occurred to me when I was trying to sleep last night. It’s basically crack-flavoured drabble.
> 
> Completely un-betaed (even by me, ahem). There’s sex if you squint. Misandry completely intentional.*
> 
> * sarcasm. Or is it?
> 
> So, anyway…

“I have been banished,” said Mary. “He can manage on his own, apparently.”

Molly glanced in the direction of the living room, the source of the near-constant stream of blasphemies and frequent hammering. “Why is John using a hammer? I didn’t think the instructions said to use a hammer.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Yes. Well. He said the instructions don’t make sense and IKEA can shove them somewhere impractical.”

“Right. Brew?”

Molly made tea for the three of them while the blasphemies graduated to stronger stuff, the words and hammering increasing in volume. They left John’s to cool, fearful of what would happen to the mug if it entered his presence.

“All I wanted was a new bookcase,” lamented Mary at the sound of an ominous crack. 

“I don’t even know what’s taking him so long. I’ve got one of those and it only took half an hour to put together.”

The doorbell rang and Mary hung her head. “Oh god, he called for reinforcements.”

“Maybe Sherlock will know what he’s doing.”

Mary mouthed a dramatic ‘no’ as she rose from the table and headed down the hallway to let Sherlock him. He trailed her back into the kitchen and picked up the mug intended for John.

“Mary, Molly,” he greeted after the first swig. “Mrs Hudson is out for the evening so we should take advantage of that. You should probably stretch before you come over. Not you, Mary, obviously.”

“I was getting worried for a moment there,” Mary replied, while Molly tried to drown herself in her tea. Sherlock disappeared into the living room and Mary snorted in laughter. “Your face. He’s not backwards about coming forwards, is he?”

“Who said romance is dead?”

They giggled for a moment, listening to the muffled voices of the two men in the other room. Sherlock’s presence seemed to have calmed John considerably.

“See, maybe they’ll figure it out,” Molly said.

“It’s not like either of them will admit defeat at any point.”

“I could have had two of those up by now.”

The banging started again and this time Sherlock led the swearing, seemingly inventing a few new words along the way.

In the end, Mary and Molly went to rescue them under the guise of delivering tea. Mary gave a little squeak of horror as they entered her usually pristine living room: it was scattered with shreds of polystyrene, screws and dowels, and assorted pieces of chipboard. At the centre of the mess were the two men and nothing approaching a bookcase.

“Men really are useless, aren’t they?” said Molly.

Mary sat the mugs down on the sideboard, as firmly as she could without sloshing tea over the sides. “Right. You two, out.”

“Excuse me?” said John.

“You heard me. All you’re making in here is a mess.”

“You don’t understand,” said Sherlock. “These instructions make no sense. These pictures are incomprehensible and any attempt to apply logic or reasoning is utterly impossible.”

“Kitchen. Tea duty. Now.”

Sherlock had to have the last word as he bowed out of the room. “Don’t expect our assistance when you have been flummoxed—you have made your own beds.”

He rather ate his words when they summoned the men back from the kitchen forty-five minutes later to find the case resting against the wall, ready to be filled. It had taken them slightly longer than anticipated, only because they’d had to unscrew all the bits that had been put in the wrong places.

“Someone needs to vacuum in here, and it’s not going to be me,” said Mary.

“Useless,” said Molly to the sheepish men, shaking her head.

But Sherlock still felt the need to have the last word, even if that happened to be hours later back in the Baker Street flat, with his head between her legs.

“Do you still believe that men are useless?”

Molly lifted her head from the pillow and frowned down at him. “What?”

“I’m demonstrating something that as a man I am very useful for.”

She giggled. “Oh, Sherlock,” she teased. “While you are infinitely better at this than putting together shelves, I don’t need a man for it. Women are perfectly capable of this too. I’ve seen it in films.”

He froze, and she could see the implications of that spinning away in his head. It was quite something to make Sherlock Holmes go a little slack-jawed; it was an even better accomplishment when it wiped a moment of smugness away.

Still, it only took him a second to recover, and then he wasn’t between her legs anymore. Not with his face, anyway. Several energetic minutes later, where he seemed determined to demonstrate all the power and virility that a man was capable of, and they lay tangled in a sweaty mess, panting away.

When he’d caught his breath, he tried for the last word again. “Women definitely can’t do that.”

She thought about leaving it there and letting him have his little victory, but he won too many of those. “Actually, they can, if they’ve got the right toys. I’ve seen that in films too—”

The provocation worked brilliantly.


End file.
